Ames To Thrill: Three Full-Length Gripping Mystery Thrillers

by Dan Ames

  “No.”

  Tom sits there while the cop fires up another smoke.

  “So tell me about Rocky Sutton,” the cop says.

  “I already told you. He’s fucking nuts! He’s a success coach I hired-“

  “Why’d you hire him?”

  “Because I felt like I needed help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “I needed an objective third party.”

  “Sounds like bullshit psychobabble,” the cop says.

  “All right! Christ! I’m not a confident guy! I needed someone smarter and stronger and more assertive to help me.”

  “So you hired this whacko.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know he was a whacko.”

  “Well, I’ve heard of him,” the cop says, but doesn’t elaborate. “Wait here, I got an idea.”

  Tom slumps over on the table.

  50

  Tom is standing with his shirt off and a microphone with wire and recorder is duct taped to his chest. The cop is giving him instructions as Tom puts his shirt on.

  “You just have to get him to admit anything at all and we got him. Even if he admits to planting the bugs in your office, or even just taking the damn dog.”

  “Oh, boy,” Tom says. He is nearly shaking with anxiety.

  “Are you up to this?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom admits.

  “You’re looking at jail if you can’t pin this on Sutton. You realize that, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You can do it. It’s time you started believing in yourself, anyway, for God’s sake. Who the hell needs a success coach anyway? Just do what you gotta do.”

  “You’re probably right,” Tom says.

  “That’s the problem today. Too many people look to someone else to solve their problems when all they really need to do is dig down deep and do it themselves.”

  “Right,” Tom says. “Dig down deep.”

  “Be strong. Be confident. And nail this fucker,” the cop says.

  “Nail him,” Tom says, without much confidence.

  51

  Tom is sitting at a martini bar with a view of the Chicago River. It’s the dark, moody kind of place where Sinatra can regularly be heard through the sound system.

  Tom barely sips from the martini in front of him.

  Rocky appears next to him.

  He sits down and the bartender immediately sets up a martini in front of him.

  “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Rocky says to Tom.

  “We have to talk about what’s happened. I’m in big trouble.”

  “You fucked it up, my man. You fucked it ALL up.”

  “I did not. It was your–“

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who’s the fuck-up here? Who’s the loser who came crying to me because he couldn’t figure out how to win on his own?”

  “But–“

  “You’re a loser, Tom. Always have been, always will be. Big...fucking...loser.”

  “Look, you were the one who–“

  “Hey, hey, hey! Not here. You wanna really talk, let’s go.”

  He guzzles his martini, gets off the bar stool, throws a bill on the bar and leaves.

  Tom tosses back the rest of his martini for courage, and then grudgingly follows.

  They both get into Rocky’s car.

  “So what did you want to say, Tom?”

  “It’s your fault. You did all this shit. Bugged the offices, put the porn on Dylan’s computer. And I don’t even want to know what you did to Morgan. You even kidnapped a dog for Christ’s sake! What kind of freak of nature are you?”

  “Oh, like you could’ve pulled it off.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You haven’t got the balls.”

  “Yeah, right,” Tom says. “Real ballsy what you did.”

  “Hey, one of us had to step up to the plate. It sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.”

  “So you admit it. You did all that stuff for me.”

  “Of course I did. You couldn’t. That’s why you were never going to be a success. You weren’t going anywhere. You didn’t have the nuts to get the job done.”

  “No, I wasn’t getting it done because I have a little something called ethics. Unlike you.”

  Rocky laughs.

  “That’s your fucking problem, Tom. You’ve got such a twisted sense of the way the world works. I’m surprised you even had the balls to come and see me. That’s what guys like you do. You act high and mighty, but when it comes to getting the job done, you call guys like me. Guys with cojones.”

  “You’re nothing special. You just do things most people wouldn’t do, because they have morals. It’s easy to be a cheat. It takes guts to be honest.”

  Tom stops.

  “Besides, I know the truth. You’re a loser. I saw where you live. Your whole act is nothing but a sham. A fraud.”

  “You followed me?” Rocky asks. For the first time, his voice seems to lack conviction.

  “You goddamned right I did! Your fancy office with the golf clubs! It’s all vacant - you never even worked there did you?”

  Rocky looks caught off guard for a moment.

  “And you don’t have any other clients do you - they all realized you’re a fucking psycho!”

  “I know how to win,” Rocky says quietly.

  Tom laughs.

  “The fuck you do. You know how to lose. Period.”

  In Tom’s excitement and wild gesturing, his shirt has come untucked. Rocky notices it and looks closer. Suddenly he reaches over and rips open Tom’s shirt, revealing the wire.

  “You bastard!”

  52

  Rocky is holding the wire and tape recorder. He throws it into the darkness. It clatters against a metal warehouse wall.

  He and Tom are now out of the car and squared off against each other.

  “I should’ve known you’d try to weasel your way out of this.”

  “You’re the weasel! You’re a fucking criminal for God’s sake!”

  Rocky holds his hands out wide. “I’m a criminal, you’re a pussy. So shoot me.”

  “I can’t let you get away with this.”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t let you get away with this.”

  Tom is about to protest when Rocky nails him with a right cross. Tom gets knocked on his ass.

  “Come on, Tommy boy. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

  Tom gets to his feet. Rocky dances around, clearly he’s fought before and is good with his hands.

  Tom charges.

  Rocky sidesteps him easily, trips him and when Tom tries to get up, Rocky nails him with a punch that sends him back down.

  Tom sits up, bleeding.

  “See what I mean?” Rocky says. “You haven’t got it in you. You haven’t got the fight in you, Tom. You’re a goddamn failure.”

  Tom charges, throwing a handful of gravel he’d picked up.

  Rocky is momentarily caught by surprise and Tom knocks him down, then throws a wild punch that connects.

  Rocky is pushed back and then comes in a fury. He throws a wicked combination that rocks Tom’s world. Tom staggers. Rocky throws a couple body shots and Tom sinks to his knees.

  Rocky kicks him.

  Tom is down and out.

  “Loser Tom. Tom the loser.”

  Rocky pulls out a gun.

  He steps toward Tom who has now brought himself up to his knees, but his head is still on the pavement.

  It’s the perfect pose for an execution.

  “So close, Tom. Yet so far.”

  He racks the slide on his automatic but before the action is completed, Tom is moving. He lashes out at Rocky and knocks the gun from his hand while throwing a giant haymaker that snaps Rocky’s head back. Tom hears the crunch of bone.

  Tom grabs a nasty-looking two-by-four from a pile of scrap.

  Rocky tries to get up and Tom wallops him across the back with the board.

 
; “You ruined my life,” Tom snarls.

  He wallops Rocky again.

  “You ruined other people’s lives.”

  Tom hits him again.

  “You’ve got to be stopped!”

  By now, Tom has knocked Rocky back to the edge of the river. It’s a high bank with about a ten-foot drop into the rushing waters.

  The current is very strong.

  Rocky gets to his feet. Blood is pouring from his face and head. He’s all busted up inside.

  He sways before Tom, glances back into the water.

  Tom hesitates.

  “Come on, you quitter,” Rocky taunts. “You can’t finish me. You’re a quitter. A loser!”

  Tom swings the bat, twisting his body and putting everything into it. He clocks Rocky across the head and Rocky goes flying back into the water. He stays on the surface for a moment, and then gets swept under.

  Tom stares at the water, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  He throws down the two-by-four.

  53

  The mini-recorder is scraped and dented, but it still works. Tom places it on the kitchen table, then hits the play button.

  Michelle watches the recorder and hears Rocky’s voice.

  “Of course I did it. You couldn’t. You weren’t going to be a success.”

  Tom snaps off the recording.

  “Am I supposed to believe that? How do I know that was really him?”

  “You have to trust me,” Tom says.

  Michelle gets up from the table.

  “Look. I’m not capable of doing what he did. You know that. Do you really think I could have snatched Morgan and framed Dylan - made that call to Kelly about her book? Kidnapped the fucking dog for Chrissakes?”

  Michelle walks back to Tom and puts her arms around him.

  “I believe you. Do you think the cops will?”

  54

  Tom is having coffee when the cop slides into the booth. Tom pushes the tape across to him.

  “It’s all there,” Tom says. “His confession.”

  “And he’s in the river?” the cop asks.

  Tom nods.

  The cop slides the tape into the pocket of his jacket.

  “Worked out well for you. Charges will be dropped. You’re scot free.”

  Tom gives the cop a tired smile. “Literally. No job. But at least I’m a free man.”

  The waitress puts coffee in front of the cop.

  “And maybe...a better man?”

  Tom thinks about it and nods.

  “For the first time, I believe in myself. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I know I’m not afraid of it.”

  The cop nods and leaves.

  Tom takes out a copy of Advertising Age.

  The front page story is devoted to the announcement of the prestigious Advertising Campaign of the Year award.

  It has been given to a new campaign for American Oil.

  Dr. Slick.

  55

  The cop walks into the office that we now see is the office where Tom originally met Rocky Sutton. The same office furniture is back.

  The cop goes through a door into the main office and there is Rocky looking as good as new.

  The cop sits down across from Rocky.

  “Well, we pulled off another one.”

  Rocky smiles. “And no one really got hurt. Molly got her dog back. Kelly and Dylan all got their jobs back. Once Morgan is done with his therapy, he might be okay.”

  The cop nods. “And Tom’s career is back on track, just not at Straun & Partners.”

  They both smile.

  “And, we’ve got one very happy customer,” Rocky says.

  The door opens and in walks Michelle Goddard. She sits down across from Rocky and the cop.

  “I can’t say I would have hired you had I known your methods...but I can’t argue with the results.”

  “It may seem like a lot of smoke and mirrors, but the fact is, people wouldn’t believe the truth. They need to think it’s harder than it really is.”

  The cop nods and Michelle agrees.

  Just then, some workers come in and hang the sign that had been in the office originally:

  ROCKY SUTTON

  Success Coach.

  Together, We Can Make Your Dreams Come True!

  THE END

  Also by Dan Ames

  Dead Wood (A John Rockne Mystery)

  Hard Rock (John Rockne Mystery #2)

  Cold Jade (John Rockne Mystery #3)

  The Killing League (A Wallace Mack Thriller)

  The Murder Store (Wallace Mack Thriller #2)

  Death by Sarcasm (A Mary Cooper Mystery)

  Murder with Sarcastic Intent (Mary Cooper Mystery #2)

  Gross Sarcastic Homicide (Mary Cooper Mystery #3)

  The Circuit Rider

  Killer’s Draw

  Killing the Rat

  To Find a Mountain

  Choke

  Beer Money

  Dr. Slick

  Head Shot

  Afterword

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  About the Author

  Dan Ames is international bestselling author and winner of the Independent Book Award for Crime Fiction.

  @AuthorDanAmes

  AuthorDanAmes

  www.authordanames.com

  dan@authordanames.com

  BEER MONEY is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.

  Copyright ©2012 by Dan Ames

  All rights reserved.

  Foreword

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  BEER MONEY

  by

  Dan Ames

  “…and beer gushes to be churned to blood…”

  -Virginia Woolf

  1

  One

  Hit the ground running.

  Strong hands held him by his shoulders. Pulled him toward the window.

  The words reverberated in his head.

  Hit the ground running.

  A piece of advice he'd picked up from his father. Or maybe his high school football coach. Maybe a late-night war movie.

  He tried to hold his feet steady against the floor but his legs buckled. His body numb. He blinked away the bloody film covering his eyes. The glass in the window was the heavy kind, with the undulating warped surface and beveled edges. It reminded him of the first house he and Emily had ever owned. An old, run-down Victorian on the East Side.

  He felt the hands shift on his body. One moved to the back collar of his sportcoat, the other grabbed the back of his belt. The memory of the glass windows, of that first house, popped through his mind flashbulb-quick.

  Suddenly, he felt his feet leave the ground and his body was propelled through the air with astonishing speed. He felt nothing as he crashed into the glass. His skull punched a hole in the thick window and then he was pushed through.

  When his shoulders hit the window the entire frame of glass exploded outward. The noise rang in his ears, registered somewhere far away in his mind. Jagged shrapnel buried itself in his chest arms and shoulders. Raked giant, bloody furrows down through his legs.

  And then he was falling.

  Through the numbing gauze of his brain, a distant part of him felt the cold wind on his face. It reminded him of tobogganing in the harsh Wisconsin winters. When he’d once built a ramp of ice-covered snow, imagining himself to be Evil Kenievel flying over ro
ws of motorcycles.

  Now there was no sense of childhood adventure. He was an objective viewer watching the cold unyielding earth rush toward him.

  His body turned in the air, became perfectly vertical. He hit standing up. The force of the fall drove him to the ground. His legs, cracked and broken, folded beneath him.

  He slammed into the concrete. His arms splayed out from his sides.

  Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

  His pupils dilated.

  He knew something was wrong. That his body didn't work. And that it would never work again. He thought then of his ex-wife, snapshots from the honeymoon in Jamaica. The first house on Huron Street. A few good years and then the beginning of the end of the marriage. A slow dissolve to black.

  A door banged open in the distance. Footsteps approached. Crunched on the pieces of glass. He heard moaning and realized it was coming from somewhere deep in his chest, bubbling in his throat. He ran his tongue over his cracked lips. Tasted the salt from the sidewalk.

  The visions of his ex-wife left him and now he thought of Julie. Her green eyes. Her smile. Her laugh. She was his new lease on life. In the dim recess of his mind where logical thought hadn't yet been extinguished, he understood the current irony of that thought. A small cluster of agony rose within him. He just wished he could say good-bye to Julie.

  A low fog began to drift over the image in his mind, and through it, he saw a figure standing before him.

  "Please..." was all he could muster. Blackness rained over and around him.

  "Professor Bantien," the shape said. The dying man heard something metallic. Tried to place the sound. Something to do with a gun. Bullets. "Look on the bright side," the shadowy figure said. "All these years studying history…and now you actually get to become it.”